


Hoard of Tumblr Works

by FallenKy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Outsider, Protective Dean Winchester, Weecest, Weechesters, just a bunch of random stuff, tumblr you shit show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenKy/pseuds/FallenKy
Summary: Tumblr's out ya'll. Here's a collection of random ficlets and prompts, some platonic and some paired but all revolving around Sam and Dean and their epic romance.





	1. Carnival

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr's banning adult content and while rumour has it fanfics won't be part of the ban I haven't really been active for a while so I'm taking it as a sign to get off the hellsite. So I present all the random little ficlets I've written over the past few years, now preserved on the archive since who knows what they'll be banning next. A huge round of applause for AO3 for always being this constant safe haven for when shit hits the fan on other fansites. 
> 
> This was for the Wincest Writing Challenge in June of 2017 I believe, my prompt was Carnival

“So… remind me who’s great idea this was?” Dean grumbled as he leaned over the safety bar on the cart, the Ferris wheel groaning in protest. He’d been fine to sit and humor Sam when he’d had his cotton candy but that was long gone now. 

“Shut up, we can see basically the whole place, if our psychic makes a move we’ve got proof.” Sam reasoned, eyes locked on the tent of their would be monster. People dropping dead with tarot cards in their throats didn’t exactly leave a long list of suspects.

Dean had to admit it was a nice view, as long as you could get over the safety risk of the rusted seats and the bar that didn’t quite lock into place. They’d gotten on at twilight, Sam passing a folded fifty dollar bill to the operator so they could ride for the rest of the evening.

The sun had long since set and the carnival was lit up, the smell of deep fried food helping to soothe some of Dean’s irritation at being stuck up here. Still, he was a big brother and that meant ragging on his little brother’s plans. “You just did this so we didn’t have to deal with the clowns.”

Sam rolled his eyes even if maybe a very small part of that was true. “Just watch the damn tent.”

So they did. And it was mind numbingly boring.

Dean spent half his time watching for their suspect to come out of the tent and the other half attempting to carve his name into the chipped paint on the side of the cart as they went around.

Finally, an hour before closing the woman came out… and promptly got in her trailer with the lights turning off a moment later.

“Killings happen at nine, she must be low on power.” Sam sighed, no confirmation meant another night of staking this dump out.

“Or maybe she saw us because this was a stupid idea.” Dean flicked his knife back into his pocket and blew the paint chips off the cart, more focused on his masterpiece then their killer.

Sam glanced over, the artwork expanded from the last time he’d looked at it. Added to the carved portion of Dean’s name was Sam’s and a very crude looking heart. “What the hell is that?”

Dean grinned and hit the panel, the ride giving a creak of warning. “A little romance Sammy, this evening isn’t over. We got probably thirty more minutes up here.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “We’ve been up here for three hours. My ass is numb, I want to get off.”

“Your ass is going to be numb when I’m done with it.” Dean grinned lewdly and scooted closest, wrapping an arm around Sam as their cart stopped at the top of the wheel. The lights from down bellow twinkled and the stars were bright overhead, it just romantic enough for Sam to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“View ain’t as pretty as you are, Sammy.” Dean paused and glanced down at his brother. “How much sweet talk do you need before I get to second base?”

Sam rolled his eyes, checking his watch as Dean started to kiss at his neck. "I'm only sitting here for one more time around, I'm serious Dean, my legs hurt.”

“Three more.” Dean murmured, voice muffled from where he was sucking at Sam’s pulse. “I carved a fucking heart for you.” 

“Two and I’ll suck you off when we come back around to the top.”

“Hell yes,” Dean popped off Sam’s neck with a grin. “Now you’re in the carnival spirit, Sammy.


	2. J2, A/B/O Coffee Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My First and Only RPF, Forester Dean's tags on a J2 gift set inspired this little work.

Jensen’s phone is vibrating nonstop in his pocket and no doubt the ping of his email every few seconds is proof that there are pressing matters that need his attention. A pharmaceutical empire to run, people to kill who get in the way of that.

Right now he says fuck all of it.

His darling Jared, the light of his life, his better half insisted on going out for coffee. Without bodyguards. In the middle of broad daylight in downtown Chicago.

He had, of course, given a firm hell no but then Jared was looking at him with those damn eyes and before Jensen could even blink he was getting his wallet and guiding Jared out to the street.

He hates this, he doesn't have eyes on all sides and has to rely on scent to make sure nothing’s coming too close to them from behind. Morgan’s guys have been on him for weeks now and he wouldn’t put an attack on Jared passed them. They’d be idiots to try but then that’s how Jensen would describe the whole group of them. He walks in front of the Omega, growling low in his throat, not quite audible but the vibrations make their fellow pedestrians uncomfortable and no one wants to linger by them. Good.

The coffee shop Jared’s been praising is just a block away but it feels like miles and he doesn’t enjoy any of it. He can’t hold Jared’s hand because he needs both of them to make sure no one gets any ideas about coming at his mate from the side and he barely hears any of Jared’s cute babbling about coming here with his friends from his internship. It sucks and he’s in a bad mood by the time they walk into the cramped little shop.

“Jen!”

Jensen snarls, ready to rip into something as he grabs Jared’s waist and yanks him in against his chest, eyes glinting red as his Alpha rises defensively to the surface, ready to attack whatever made his mate call out for him.

Jared is unaffected, too used to Jensen growling and pulling at him to do much more than lean into his Alpha’s side as he stares up at the menu board. “They have that cinnamon bun syrup I was telling you about, you have to try it.”

Jared looks down, beaming happily at Jensen who is unable to see any difference between that smile and the goddamn sun. He feels the freezing sharp ice that makes up his soul melt and suddenly the people in this place look a lot friendlier and the coffee smells a lot nicer.

“Yeah,” He lets a loose smile crack on his lips, only for Jared. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, baby.”

He’s still on edge, they aren’t safe here. Jared isn’t safe here. But Jared is also happy, sitting on the stupid mini bean bag chair that's way too small for his long legs and sipping sugary coffee while they hold hands. 

Jensen is Jared’s protector, A job he takes more seriously than any other and if that means sitting in the other mini bean bag chair and glaring at the barista who’s been eyeing Jared a little too long he is more than happy to do so.

“So what do you think?” Jared smiles.

Jensen raises an eyebrow, the coffee’s fine if a bit overpriced but these kind of places were more Jared’s thing.

His mate rolls his eyes. “I mean about our date. You always take me out so I thought I could for a change.”

“You’re talking me out? Why the hell did I pay then?” He teases, Jared kicking him under the table in response. “It’s nice Jay, kinda putting me on edge but I like being here with you.”

Jared grins and squeezes his hand. “Good. It was worth you having an Alpha freak out on the way over here then.”

Jensen doesn’t comment, Jared is innocent and likes to believe the world is filled with good people despite everything he’s witnessed in Jensen’s world. It’s Jensen’s job to protect that, not explain why he’s wrong. Instead, he brushes his lips over Jared’s wrist and links their fingers together firmly. “If this was a good date you’d kiss me.”

Jared gives him another one of his gorgeous sunny smiles and leans in, Jensen meeting him halfway and for a brief moment, his phone and the rest of the world fall silent.


	3. Stalker, Weechesters, Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a stalker. 
> 
> This was done for the Celebrating Sam project, I choose the prompt Stalker.

“Dean, lookit!”

Dean glanced up in time to see a giant glob of chocolate syrup drip off Sam’s spoon and straight into his little brother’s mouth from where the kid was holding it above his head. “Nice one, kiddo.”

Sam grinned and slurped the rest of the melted ice cream off the spoon before continuing to dig into his sundae with all the excitement of a seven-year-old. Dean had settled on an ice cream sandwich instead, not that he didn’t like sundaes, but today he needed to be on full alert and getting distracted by piles of whipped cream wasn’t something he was willing to risk.

He absently took a bite of his treat, alternating between eyeing the window to his side and the door in front of him as he’d purposely chosen the booth with it’s back to the wall. One less side to be concerned about. 

“Dean?”

He blinked and looked back to his brother who had his bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Dean sighed and nudged Sam’s foot under the table. “I’m not Sammy, just gotta keep a look out.”

“Look out for what?”

“For big brothers to know only, don’t be so nosey.”

Sam stuck out his tongue at Dean before sitting up on his short little legs to see out the window, rebelliously proving that looking out was for little brothers too. It didn’t last too long though, the occasional car passing through the parking lot about as exciting as it got and within moments Sam was back to his ice cream.

Dean couldn’t help a small smile as he looked at the sticky little brother across from him in the booth, chocolate syrup smeared over his mouth that seemed to be in a permanent grin as he finished up his ice cream.

It was a nice day, the two having gone to the park before Dean brought them to the ice cream parlor and if all went well they’d finish off the afternoon with some Saturday cartoons back at the motel. Easy, relatively cheap, and most importantly fun for both of them.

Dean wasn’t going to let The Man ruin that.

The Man drove a blue Ford truck with a license plate number Dean had carefully written on the motel stationary. He chewed tobacco that he bought at the convince store on Main Street Dean followed him to, seemed to have or had a wife at some point by the wedding ring on his finger, and he really really liked Sam.

Dean really really wanted to shoot him. 

Dad was gone though and said he needed them to lay low in town and Dean knows that shooting someone means the cops will start investigating. If he shoots the guy it’ll mean CPS and juvy and Dean has no plans to ever leave Sammy, especially over some idiot stalker.

So he simply has to watch his brother like a hawk which isn’t all that different than usual. If The Man only wants to stare at Sam, then fine. Dean can hate it and hate him but there’s no grounds to start shooting just yet and if all goes well there won’t ever be. Dean keeps the curtains drawn tight when he gives Sammy his bath and his little brother isn’t ever out of his sight for him to be kidnapped.

On cue the truck pulled up, sliding into a stall a few rows back but his truck is high enough he can see into the window just fine. See them.

See Sam.

Dean grited his teeth but out of everything going on he doesn’t want his brother to know what’s happening so he resists the urge to pick him up and run back to the motel. He had his gun in his pocket even though he’s not supposed to use it without Dad’s supervision but he wasn’t going to be caught by this weirdo unharmed with no way to protect Sam.

He squinted out into the parking lot, just barely able to make out The Man. He’s wearing sunglasses today and Dean hopes they make it harder to see into the window.

It would be a lot easier to just bundle Sam up, keep him inside their motel room until Dad comes back but that’s not fair to him. He’s already bored with school out and Dean’s not going to let The Man control them. Dean’s the one in charge and no one else so if they want to go get ice cream they’ll go get ice cream.

Sam’s nearly finished so Dean throws away their mess and uses a napkin with some spit to wipe both their sticky hands clean. Just regular Sam and Dean business as usual and it’ll stay that way if The Man knows what’s good for him.

…

He was beautiful.

Dark curly hair, hazel eyes, chubby cheeks.

He doesn’t want to touch because he’s afraid he’ll ruin the angel but at the same time yes please, yes! YES!

It’s a tricky thing to balance but so far he’s been doing okay. He just watches. Watches and imagines.

Of course, he’s often interrupted by the older boy. The big brother he seems to be, always moving in front of the beauty to block his view. He would be taking pictures of his angel but he knows the boy would be in all of them too and there’s no point. An insolent glare next to a work of art kills the mood.

He’s never followed like this before; pictures usually suffice the urge but because he can’t do that he finds himself drawn back. Back to his muse, his Beatrice, his Maud – back to His.

He’s enchanted in that stare, the creamy skin, the briefest hints of laughter he was able to catch when he’d first spotted his lovely. It’s better this way, all good things are always just out of reach.

Of course, it’s easy to say that when touching isn’t probable. There’s always too many people around and always always that older boy.

Until one day there isn’t.

His Aphrodite is feeding the ducks like the goddess he is, having slipped out of the bathroom alone despite having gone in with his brother. 

He’s out across the grass before he could even realize what he’s doing but there’s no point. His soulmate called out to him.

“Hello.” He said smoothly, this is his angel’s first introduction to him and he want’s to make sure it goes well.

His prince stiffened and he hated that, his darling should be relaxed when they speak so he reached out a hand to touch his small shoulder in comfort.

He doesn’t even make it halfway before he’s being slammed into the grass by a force much stronger than any child had any right to be.

“You don’t fucking touch my brother!”

“Dean!” His angel shouted, but why did he sound more upset about the use of language then his lover being attacked?

“You’re done, you hear me!” The boy who’s apparently named Dean slammed a fist into his nose and he gasped, blood spurting as it breaks with a loud crunch that echoes through his head.

“If I ever see you around us again you’re dead! I will shoot you between the eyes before you can so much as blink at Sam! You got that!”

There were fists raining down on him but everything was a blur of pain. He knew distantly that he should be able to fight off a child but it wasn’t quite registering with the beating his body was taking. He curled up to try and minimize the blows but they kept coming until he saw smaller feet step up next to Dean’s and they abruptly ceased.

Without the blood rushing through his ears and the sound of his body being punched he could hear crying. At first, he thought it was his love but upon opening his swollen eyes he saw it was the older boy who was heaving full choking sobs as he pulled his angel up into his arms and held him tight.


	4. Weechesters, Hurt!Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters, was prompted for a dead Sam fic.

John is interviewing a witness when it happens. He’s still so new at this, stumbling his way through tentative introductions with his fake police badge and only his basic understanding of the system to guide him. He does better with the ladies but charming women only gets you so far when finding a hunt.

Still, he manages and after a solid day of interviews and playing nice with the local sheriff he gets back to his motel room with a bagged burger and a six pack to work through. He doesn’t think twice about the flashing red light on the motel phone since Dean always calls to check in before bed and they’re only a half hour down the road in the next town over. Safer that way.

He flicks the TV on and slumps onto the bed, enjoying a few moments of peace that rarely seem to stay in his chaotic life. The football game goes to commercial and he reaches for the phone, pressing one absently so he can hear his babies say goodnight.

“Daddy? It’s Dean.”

John laughs slightly, watching the ad for a new restaurant opening downtown while his oldest reminds him who he’s listening to.

“Um. I think Sammy ate somethin. I was gettin milk for bed and when I came back he had stuff on his face.”

John hums, putting the phone on speakers as he reached for the bag containing his dinner, digging through for his burger at the mention of his little Sammy’s never ending appetite. The three-year-old was always eating whatever he could get his hands on and probably got into John’s stash of chips under the couch.

“It looked really gross so I wiped it all up! Sammy was real good and he didn’t get any of the purple stuff on his clothes!”

He chuckles at the pride in Dean’s voice, only seven and Sam was the light of his big brother’s world. He takes a big bite of his burger, absently wondering if he’d bought grape juice lately and if that’s what Sam had got into.

There’s an echo of a whine for ‘De’ in the background of the message, Dean’s voice muffled as he responds before turning his face back to the receiver. “Kay I gotta tell Sammy a story, bye Daddy!”

John chuckles at the end of the message and reaches for the remote, about to turn the volume up on the television when a new message starts to play. Curiously, he looks over to see the light still blinking which is strange since Dean usually went to bed with Sam-

“Daddy!”

John bolts upright at the fear in his son’s voice, frozen as he stared at the phone.

“Sammy kept throwing up! He’s sick Daddy! He kept throwing up but nothing would come out so it was just empty throw ups!” 

The pure hysteria in Dean’s sobs throws John into action, fear at what exactly Sam had swallowed making him grab his shoes and start to throw his things into his duffle, unable to leave so much evidence here but needing to go to his boys. His mind races to try and figure out what happened, what caused this, anything but what he thinks, but the only thing he can see is the bottle of purple toilet cleaner he kept in the hall closet of their rental. 

There’s a sniffle and the sound of a blanket against a body, Dean no doubt laying right up against his little brother. “He’s sleepin but he looks really bad Daddy. You need to come home.”

The call drops and John curses, throwing his bag over his shoulder and sprinting for the car, the last message on the machine playing to an empty room. 

“Daddy.”

There’s a soft sniff, the third message seeming much quieter.

“Sammy won’t wake up.”


	5. Outsiders Pov, boys as ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new generation of hunters learn a few more secrets of the bunker. Written as a Coda to 12x18

Hunting wasn’t an easy profession but the base sure as hell made it easier.

Connor was more or less our leader, a title earned by having saved all our asses more than once, and he said he got the keys from some hunter he’d helped out with a Vampire nest. Guy was a bit of a nomad and had no use for it, simply passed the key to Connor and said it’d be worth his time to check it out. The rest was history.

There’s ten of us now, everyone with their own room and still more than enough space to share. The library’s stuffed to the brim with lore, the dungeons bursting with weapons, and there’s a slick 1967 Impala in the garage we’re all working on getting to run. It’s nice and monster free.

Well… except for the table.

It’s a decent wood table in the middle of the library, long enough to fit all of us for a heavy research session or more often than not takeaway night. It’d been redone at some point, painted over and lacquered so it doesn’t look quite as old as the rest of the place. At least it didn’t until I accidentally chipped the top when I slammed my weapons case a little too hard.

Connor had rolled his eyes as the rest of the group had grumbled at me for fucking up the perfectly good table… until we spotted what was underneath.

DW

“No way,” Vince whispered, running a calloused thumb over the carved initials. “No fucking way.”

I dug my fingers under the paint to try and chip more of it away, the W becoming more defined. “DW… I mean they aren’t exactly uncommon initials.” I offered. 

Vince looked way too excited to be put off by my logic. “This makes perfect sense, of course he would have used this place. Dean Winchester sat right here- fucking hell, I bet that’s his car in the basement - didn't he drive a classic Impala?”

Elliot leaned over to run her hand over the initials, everyone wanting to touch the marking of one of the greatest hunters to ever live. It had only been a few minutes but already it was a relic to us.

“Dean Winchester,” She murmured reverently. “It’s an honor.”

Connor seemed to agree, eyeing the carving with a look of such respect it made me want to put my cap over my heart. If anyone deserved that it was Winchester.

“We all know what this man accomplished, take this as a sign to get your asses in gear and live up to the legacy left behind.”

“You mean you want us to find a gun that can kill demons?” Elliot grinned, “Because that might take awhile…”

“How about I start taking on giant vamp nests solo?” Vince offered.

“Mmm, you think I should summon the angel before I kill it or just storm heaven and take them all out?” I added, everyone snickering as Connor rolled his eyes.

“Or maybe we should all start fucking our br-“ I elbowed Jeremy in the stomach, some things we leave out of the Dean Winchester legends when we’re showing the man respect. Shit talking in the roadhouse? That’s when you can bring that up.

Vince left only to return a few minutes later with beers and soon our research was forgotten in favor of toasting the Legend of Dean Winchester that had touched our humble base.

It should have ended there.

“What the hell Vince!”

But we’re hunters, so of course it didn’t.

Elliot’s screech carried into the kitchen where most of us were still nursing our hangovers, ensuring a fast response to try and get her to shut up.

“What?” Connor grumbled as he turned the corner into the library, stopping short in the doorway so all of us were forced to peak around him.

Shit.

The place was a mess, glass from the beer bottles littered the floor in shattered pieces along with hundreds of pages from the research books that had been left open and torn to shreds.

“Is this some sort of prank, Vince?” Elliot seethed, getting right up in the man’s face. “You think it’s funny to-“

“Elliot, he was with me on watch most of the night.” Jeremy murmured, taking a cautious step forward with glass crunching under his boot. “Besides, you know what this looks like.”

“A spirit, I’m not an idiot Jeremy! Look at the table!”

We all looked over, glass and beer covering the entire thing except for the DW that looked as clean as when I polished it with my sleeve last night.

Okay yeah, this looked exactly like the kind of thing Vince would do, but the guy looked just as weirded out as the rest of us which meant… “Are we being haunted by Dean Winchester?”

Connor shook his head, walking over the table and running a hand over the carving with the same amount of respect as before. “I hope to God not.”

Winchester was one hell of a force to be reckoned with as a human, none of us really wanted to meet the supernaturally charged version.

“Let’s just clean this up and see if we can-“ There was a sudden rush of wind, cutting off Connors words as well all braced ourselves against the table. Wind inside an underground bunker? We were definitely haunted.

“Why is he restless?” Elliot shouted, her voice barely carrying over the wind. “He should have been given a hunter’s pyre- you think something of his is around here? The car-“

“We’re not burning the car!” Vince yelled back, looking appalled at the very idea. “We need to figure out why he didn’t move on, not start burning priceless artifacts!”

“Priceless!” Elliot snorted. “I can look it up on Ebay and give you a price for it right now!”

“Oh my god, will you two shut up!” Jeremey shouted, banging his head against the leg of the table. “He’s here for something! What would make Dean Winchester vengeful?”

The wind suddenly came to an abrupt stop, a man a few years younger than Connor suddenly leaning up against the bookshelf, calm as can be in the middle of the destruction that was the library.

“I’m not vengeful.”

The silence was deafening, all of us sitting on the floor and gapping as we tried to rationalize what we were seeing.

He was… a lot prettier than I would have thought. Dirty blonde and green eyed just like all the stories. He held himself with confidence and was obviously built for a fight, scars and a heaviness to his eyes balancing him out. He seemed much more corporeal than any other ghost I’ve ever dealt with, even more so when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver knife.

The appearance of a weapon made all of us move, Elliot for the shotgun on the shelf while I grabbed for the poker from the fireplace – the rest making use of the iron in their own knives.

Dean rolled his eyes, unimpressed as he approached the table. “I ain’t gonna hurtcha.” He ignored us, leaning over the table and touching the craved initials of his own name. “I’m gonna tell you something though. I couldn’t care less if you paint over this or leave it chipped.” He flipped open his knife.

“But what you aint gonna do it forget-“ He growled, a flash of anger in his eyes that reminded all of us that this man wasn’t human anymore. He jabbed the knife down into the table which made all of us jump but he didn’t spare a glance, simply pulled back chunks of paint until more letters were revealed.

SW

Oh.

Winchester blew away the paint and carefully made sure the S and W were both visible before pulling away and finally letting his attention fall back on us. “You wanna live up to my legend?”

He took a step closer and before I could move he grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me in. Those green eyes were blazing, the threat and seriousness of what Dean Winchester was about to say to me keeping the poker frozen in my hand as he growled out, “You don’t forget about my little brother.”

I gapped, his hand releasing and pushing me back to the group but apparently that wasn’t enough for him as he continued to stand in front of us. “I can fade from existence or be fucking worshiped, it doesn’t matter, but you sure as hell ain’t gonna remember me without Sammy.”

Sammy.

The boy who saved the world, who spent a lifetime in Lucifer’s cage, who took on the trials and survived. 

His big brother called that boy Sammy.

I nodded because Sam Winchester was just as welcome our table as his brother and Dean should be assured of that.

“Where’s Sam now?” Elliot asked softly, her hand tight on the shotgun but she seemed willing to try and attempt the pacifist route.

Dean blinked, some of the fire leaving his eyes. “He’s uh, up in heaven.”

Elliot nodded, giving Dean and encouraging smile that I tried to mimic. “He probably misses you then, right?”

Dean nodded hazily, eyes looking somewhere else completely. “Yeah, had to take care of this but… he’s gonna get worried and get himself worked up.” He frowned.

“Probably should go see him right? I bet he misses you.”

Dean suddenly smiled, and I completely got the reputation that dude had as a lady killer. “Yeah, he’s a little bitch like that.”

Apparently that was all it took as I blinked and Dean Winchester was gone.

“Could have at least cleaned up.” Jeremy grumbled, walking through the mess of books and glass to start righting the chairs that had fallen over in the wind.

“Sammy Winchester.” I grinned at Elliot as I looked over the table, the two’s initials paired as close together as those you’d expect to see carved on a tree with a heart around it. I reached over to touch the carving but as soon as my skin touched wood a shock zapped through my hand. “Fuck!”

Elliot snickered, gathering up some of the ruined books. “I think only Dean gets to call him Sammy.”


	6. Outsiders Pov, Kidnapped Sam, Protective Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A police officer is stuck with a very panicked Dean who's just trying to get back to his brother. 
> 
> Prompt - Prompting (if you want :D) some protective/possessive Dean or sam/dean cuddles or both? Luv your blog btw <3

Mason isn’t a stranger to kidnappings, he’s only been out of the Army for three years and spent most of that time on the police force. He’s been captured and dealt with enough hostage situations that the predictability of them can be a bit mundane.

He’s never dealt with anything like this.

It had started basic enough, kid goes missing in the woods. Not uncommon or that noteworthy. Then one kid turned to five and five to fifteen until thirty kids from his county had just up and vanished on his watch.

He was getting desperate when all his favors were turning up jack squat. Then the two FBI agents had rolled into town with a cocky attitude and confidence over the situation that had Mason breathing easy for the first time in weeks. These guys knew what they were doing and they’d help take care of it.

That just shows where trusting strangers gets you. In Mason’s case, it’s a cramped cellar with windows filled with cement and a crazy fake FBI agent who’s been clawing at the locked door for what seems like ages.

“Give him back!” 

The gruff demand is yelled with as much fervor as it was an hour ago and he can’t help but be strangely impressed. Yelling at that volume continuously would ruin anybody else’s voice but this guy is still going strong and doesn’t show any signs of stopping.

“If you hurt him I'm going to rip out your throat with my fucking teeth!” 

His jeers were also to be admired considering he had yet to repeat any threats or comments. There was one thing he did repeat, though.

“Sammy!” 

Mason inwardly sighs, pretty sure he’ll be hearing ‘Sammy!’ screamed in his own dreams for the next few months if they survived this. Dean’s voice bouncing around his head like the echo in their concrete prison. The yelling had given him hope in the beginning but now it just gives him a headache. No one was coming and if their captor was sensitive to being called names he would have come back to shut this guy up by now.

The loud boom of bone on metal interrupts his thoughts, Dean deciding to continue punching the metal door that was blocking the way to his partner … Or whoever the guy playing his fake FBI partner was. Mason was getting the feeling it was probably something a little more than work friends but he had no clue what kind of relationship would inspire this kind of reaction.

Dean’s knuckles are bloody and raw as he pounds away at the door, powerful fists flying like a man possessed and never once wavering even as Mason cringes at the sight. Dean has to know this is pointless and he’s just hurting himself right?

“Open up this fucking door before I do it for you!” 

Mason sighs and stands up, walking cautiously over to the door and leaning against the frame, Dean’s powerful punches rattling his body with vibrations even a good foot away. “So uh, maybe we should talk about a plan?” He asks slowly. “Dean right? Unless that was a fake name.”

Dean doesn’t so much as spare him a glance, his fists pounding into the metal much more important.

“Look man, I know you’re caught up in this but we need to figure out a plan. Get out of here and get back up is as good as any so we can save those kids. I can’t do it without you though… you said it was a rawhead?” 

Still no reaction. Mason’s starting to get pissed.

There are kids in danger from that creepy leather monster that kidnapped him and this guy is just going to keep uselessly pounding at the door? That’s not acceptable.

“Where the hell do you get off!” He yells, the noise seeming childlike compared to Dean’s rough tone and volume but he doesn’t let it deter him. “There are kids who need help and you’re just going to let them die because you can’t get over your boyfriend who’s probably dead anyway!” 

One second he’s giving what he thinks is an empowering speech and the next a hand is wrapping around his shirt collar, choking him slightly as he’s dragged up to Dean’s level. Their noses are almost touching and at this proximity he can see the slightly wild look in his eyes just as clearly as the dents in the metal door.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dean growls, seeming more animal than human and Mason’s pretty sure he’ll kill as swift as any lion. “I’ve saved a whole lot of kids and a whole lot of police officers-” He tugs roughly at the badge on Mason’s chest. “and none of them mean shit to me if Sam isn’t here.” Dean leans in even closer, Mason’s heartbeat speeding up at the pure rage in this man’s eyes. “You don't know shit about what he is to me." 

He’s suddenly dropped, landing on his ass and gaping like an idiot as Dean wordlessly turned and started right back at attacking the door again.

...

Apparently, metal doors can be punched into submission and if that’s all Mason learns from this experience he’ll call it a success. He’s pretty sure his look of utter shock when Dean busted down that door was priceless.

“Don’t touch him,” Came a low growl from behind him and he turns in time to see a paramedic quickly pulling her hand away from the bundle that is snuggly tucked into Dean’s arm.

Smart move. 

That bundle is over two hundred pounds of very tall male but by the way he’s curled into Dean’s chest and the man had his arms wrapped around him you’d think he was a kid. Mason thinks half of it has to do with Sam being stuffed in a freezer and the other half just how these two are.

“Quit staring,” Dean huffs, covering Sam’s head with the blanket and pulling him closer into his collar bone like a mother with her baby. “Don’t you have something better to do?” 

Mason resists rolling his eyes, these two men the reason they’d even figured out where the kids were so he figures he’ll try and show a bit of respect. He only gets two steps away when Dean’s gruff threats come again.

“You try and take him I’ll break your arm.” 

He sighed and turns back around, this time to see the girl from before with a bigger paramedic she apparently thought would be able to handle Dean better. She thought wrong by the way Dean seems to be tensing and Mason hurries back over to try and cool the situation. He has no doubt Dean is more than willing to spill a little blood over Sam after everything he's just witnessed.


	7. A/B/O, Weecest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has two important roles in Sam's life, Alpha and Big Brother. 
> 
> Prompt - maybe some alpha dean and omega sam?

John Winchester was a fierce and wise Alpha, leading their Kansas Pack with a strength and maturity that was known throughout the midwest just as his father and grandfather before him. The Winchester bloodline was as old as it was powerful and many wolves came from all over to have a chance at mingling their packs with some of the sought after ancestry. 

Watching Dean, the future Pack Alpha, attempt to snag an apple from the very top branch of the fruit tree and fail miserably made Sam think those packs should probably save themselves the trip. 

“Don’t fall!” Sam snickered, sunning himself in the soft meadow grass as he watched his brother climb farther along the branch. His powerful broad chest and muscled limbs usually so advantageous were only making his climb harder. “The great Dean Winchester defeated by an apple tree!” 

“Shut your mouth,” Dean growled, awkwardly wiggling along the branch to where the freshest fruit on the tree was. It was a long fall to the ground and he’d have splinters all over after this but it was worth it to get the best.

“I’m gonna write a book about it, the _rise_ and _fall_ of Dean’s tree climb.” He grinned, all dimples as he watched Dean's slow progress. “Get it?” 

Dean snorted, focused on the fruit that was almost in his reach. “Yeah, Sammy. I got your dorky puns.” He grunted and pulled his body forward, maintaining his balance as he snagged two apples. Grinning in victory, he put both stems in his mouth and swung off the side, hanging just by his arms for a moment before dropping gracefully to the ground in a crouch. 

“Ten out of ten.” Sam clapped, impressed. 

“Damn right,” Dean grinned and walked over, dropping the apples into Sam’s lap with a proud smirk, chest puffed up and head held high as he waited for his little brother’s inspection. “For you, Omega.” 

Sam hummed and took his time to look them over, knowing Dean’s wolf would be disappointed if he just ate it without taking the time to appreciate just how choice these particular ones were. These weren’t just apples, they were a token of Dean’s affection and evidence to his strength and ability to provide for an omega and family. 

Dean had reached adulthood and Alpha maturity at eighteen like most wolves, coming into his knot and shedding his puppy coat for thick adult fur. Unlike most wolves, Dean didn’t start sniffing out the omegas of the pack to find a mate. 

Dean had instead gotten home from his coming of age ceremony and promptly locked himself in his room with Sam, growling when anyone tried to get near the door. 

Dad was concerned but the elders reassured him it was normal, especially in old families like theirs. Sometimes the god’s decided that a pureblood offspring was needed and Sam and Dean would be providing it. 

With the elder’s approval the pack sanctioned courting had then begun, Sam too young to be taken as a mate but that didn’t mean Dean put any less effort into wooing him. A weirdly balanced relationship between big brother and future mate had developed. 

“They’re perfect,” Sam smiled sweetly up at Dean and gave his approval, watching as his big brother’s chest seemed to jut out even further. “I accept them, Alpha.” 

“Course they are, I picked them.” He dropped down to the ground next to Sam and kissed his head before frowning and pulling back with a scrunched nose. “You need a bath,” He insisted, shifting with the snap of bone into a white wolf, twice the size of a man. 

“No,” Sam whined, rolling over to try and escape but Dean was faster, a paw the size of his head catching him in the chest and easily pulling him back in against Dean’s soft side. " _You’re gross, Sam."_ Dean scolded, speaking through the wolf bond that connected them to each other in both forms. 

“You’re just high maintenance,” Sam grumbled as Dean’s tongue swiped over his cheek and started working effectively over his face and neck. He had no choice but to go limp and let Dean work, always getting sleepy when his brother cleaned him. 

Dean stopped only after he was properly cleaned, giving Sam’s cheek a soft lick of affection before curling against him with a warm huff. 

“You’re a jerk,” Sam grumbled sleepily, turning and burying his face against the soft fur of Dean’s neck. The sunlight streaming in through the forest to warm their bodies and the soft give to the grass was too tempting to resist and Sam couldn’t stop the pull of sleep. 

_"A jerk because I want you to not look like a jungle wolf?"_ Dean snorted and nudged Sam’s head gently. " _It’s just a bath, don’t be a bitch."_

Sam sleepily nuzzled closer. 


	8. Sam, Bmol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to 12x14, I was pretty confused at Sam joining the Bmol and had a lot of negative feelings about Mary so I wanted to believe that Sam was just joining to take them out from the inside and here was a look at how that would play out.

There’s a numbness that comes with killing.

It’s not immediate or even unwanted at first, the creeping whisper wrapping around you like a blanket except it's ice that sits on your skin instead of warmth. But ice cools the burn of rage and soon you let it sink deeper, parasitic in its intentions but you welcome the high of emptiness where your innocence once screamed with every bullet leaving your gun.

You think you’ve simply grown up, matured into the world hunting has opened up for you and let it be. It’s easier that way and most welcome the black of frostbite where their soul used to be as fair trade.

Sam has spent his life doing his best to avoid the seductive temptation of the desensitization. He could be a hunter and keep his heart with enough effort. He’s set on not following the mindless path of his father before him. It helps to have Dean there, a hunter set in his ways but with a strict moral code to follow as his example. Two hunters who do their best to stay on the straight and narrow but it can be a tight squeeze.

The British Men of Letters are different. Working with them is a new process, one that takes the gray out of the equation. Of course, Sam’s life is shaded in gray.

He’s left speechless and without a point to stand on, these men and woman so caught up in their cause that there is no other way, that any doubt or question to their intentions is treated as defiance to the organization itself. That is not allowed.

They have their ways of dealing with rouge hunters as Sam was told on day one but he didn’t learn the extent until much later. Monster blood is not the only crimson stain on his hands.

So he stays quiet and watches in shocked horror at the ease and carelessness in which they kill, in which they so confidently end the lives of others in the name of progress. There’s a difference between being numb to your guilt and not having it at all.

Ketch is a different story. Sam never imagined someone could take joy from killing an entire Kitsune family of three kids and a pregnant mother but Ketch smiles like it’s Christmas with each stab of his knife to their tiny hearts.

He tends to avoid Ketch.

He bites his tongue and works quietly, doing the tasks he’s given and pretending to believe their message of a better world as he sinks deeper into the system. The hardest part is watching his mother thrive under their order. She’s so proud, happy to have one of her sons with her and gushes about him to the higher ups. There’s no need though, they’ve made it very clear how important and wanted he is to the cause.

He sits at a conference meeting, watching Mick explain why the vegetarian vampires still need to be taken out with such confidence, ‘abomination,’ rolling off his tongue like a death sentence. _“What about demon blood tainted children?”_ His mind whispers, _“Where does that fall on the scale?”_

He kills a rugaru, or well, a future rugaru. They girl was twenty and on her way back to her dorm room. He watches her burn on the floor and feels like crying as Ketch whistles and adds more gasoline _. “I didn’t have a soul,”_ he wants to say. _“Which knife would you have used?”_

He’s the biggest hypocrite with only his excuses of trying to do the right thing to ease his guilt with every creature they take down. There’s a righteousness that comes with killing something that was hurting innocents but Sam feels only darkness as he kills in what the BMoL call, ‘preemptive,’.

Dean was a demon, he’s Lucifer’s true vessel, they’ve both died and come back multiple times and are always a constant hazard for possession. There are still groups of hunters out there who wouldn’t think twice before throwing him in a demon trap.

Yet here he is playing executioner.

He can see why it’s compelling, though, why his mother is so taken with them. There’s a sense of power when being handed a new weapon that you know you can’t lose with. A comfort of community to have everyone after the same world saving mission.

Above all there’s the absence of guilt to have someone else telling you who to kill and your only job to pull the trigger.

He’s pretty sure that’s what most of Ketch’s problem is but he doesn’t want to dive deeper into the never ending hole that would be that trail of thought.

Sam’s always fought to keep his conscious but now he’s drowning in it, his guilt eating away at him until he’s raw to the touch. He wants to give in, just leave and go back to the safety of his brother where they can both hate the Brits and hunt on their own terms. Easy and normal and comfortable.

They can’t win with comfortable though. The group is too powerful and he’s already in deep enough to destroy them when the moment comes. So he bides his time, lets his victim’s faces haunt him every night and is the good obedient killer by day, jaw clenched and defiance always right under the surface.

They might be frozen to the touch but Sam’s heart still burns red hot and that will be their downfall.


	9. Sick Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers. 
> 
> Prompt - wincest for the prompting thing. sam has a terminal disease?

Sam’s staring at the painting with a look of such reverence Dean doesn’t want to talk. Sometimes Sam needs time to appreciate the little things and like hell if he’s going to take that away from him. There’s not very much left to take anyway. 

But that’s what happens when your little brother’s brilliant brain decides to go and start killing itself off a few brain cells at a time. It doesn’t care he’s too young for this kind of shit to happen. 

Too fucking young. Dean’s lost count of how many times he’s said that. Screamed it at every doctor who held up the brain scans and shook their heads. 

Early onset. They’d try and say it as if that explains why his baby brother can recite fifteen exorcisms by heart but couldn’t figure out how to dial Dean’s phone number when he’d forgotten why he was in a gas station a month ago. 

Alzheimer’s is a bitch and early onset can go fuck itself in hell. 

Sam’s _thirty-eight._ They were never planning on living long enough to have to worry about this kind of shit. Arthritis and Dementia were things he safely assumed didn’t need to be considered. But Sammy’s always had this kind of fucked up luck. 

Four months they’ve lived with this. Four months of Dean holding Sam so goddamn tight every night and holding his breath the next morning to see what would be forgotten today. 

It doesn’t work like that but it kind of does. 

They did the whole hunt side of it. Searched out every witch and spiritualist they could get their hands on but there wasn’t a lot that could be done. Still, Sam has a few talisman necklaces around his neck that promote memory that Dean had insisted he wear. He needed to feel like he’d done _something._

But at the end of month three, Sam was getting more confused with all the different places they were always traveling to, starting to just hold Dean’s hand and shrug off explanations he wouldn’t remember. 

Dean had shut down everything then. Had done a U-turn in the middle of the empty highway and set off in the opposite direction, not willing to make Sam docile and powerless just because he couldn’t accept their new normal. 

And that line of thinking was how they ended up here. One thirteen hour plane ride with Dean on heavy sleep meds and face firmly pressed into Sam’s neck so he didn’t have to see out any windows- they made it to Paris. 

He swears they aren’t starting a bucket list countdown but they kind of are. 

Sammy had wanted to see the paintings in the Louvre before he forgot about his art history classes and own studies. Dean couldn’t say no. 

“She’s beautiful,” Sam murmurs reverently, looking up at what appeared to the fifth naked woman with a screaming baby angel they’d seen. 

“Sure, babe.” Dean rolls his eyes and squeezes Sam’s hand. His brother grins and turns to meet his lips in a sweet kiss that has Dean feeling a lot more amicable to the painting. 

All the doctors said there’s not a lot of hope but Dean thinks there just might be. 


	10. Goodnight kisses, pre weecest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives Sam a goodnight kiss every night.

Sam still has to be tucked in every night.

Not like he can’t sleep or will throw a fit or anything but for Dean’s own peace of mind it needs to happen.

He needs to pull those covers up and see Sam’s skinny shoulders disappear under the stained comforter of their motel of the week, needs to have a moment to reassure himself that Sammy is safe and warm and right there next to him in their shared bed.

And then there’s the part that comes after.

The part where soft hazel eyes look up at him with so much adoration Dean feels his entire body swell with it. Feeling so full with the knowledge that this precious cover lump of fourteen-year-old boy is his, his to love and be loved so fully in return he can’t even understand it.

Sammy looks at him and all Dean can see is the oceans of love he’s being freely given for some unfathomable reason, love he craves like a man in the desert and would happily lick up by the drop.

But no. He’s given an unlimited supply and all he can do is try his hardest to be worthy of it.

“Did you have fun at soccer?” He murmurs, looking down at his baby’s face, one arm holding him close to his chest and the other gently stroking through his hair.

Sometimes it’s, “How was your test?”

“Did you have fun at the movies?”

“What did you do while I was out?”

Always checking in, having a moment for Sam to freely talk to his big brother about the relatively small part of their day when they weren’t together. It’s late though and Sam’s tired so tonight’s will be short.

“Good, was fun.” He smiles, already starting to drift off, curling closer into Dean’s chest, the amulet just grazing his cheek.

“I’m glad,” Dean smiles softly, pulling Sam a little closer and the blankets a little higher, unable to help but fuss.

“Dean,” he yawns. “You’re forgetting.”

No. He’s not. Couldn’t forget anything less.

Sam smiles up at him sleepily and tilts his head, Dean already leaning down and pressing a soft sweet kiss to his little brother’s lips.

It doesn’t mean anything.

At least that’s what he tells himself when Sam sighs happily and turns his head, already dozing.

It’s platonic. Platonic goodnight kisses between him and his teen brother.

He settles himself down in bed, draped over Sam and completely concealing his baby brother from the window and door. It’s natural and easy… just like goodnight kisses.

That’s what worries and thrills Dean.


	11. Coda 12x08/09, Sam going a little crazy, protective Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't do well in cages.

The first thing Sam realized is when they say maximum security they really mean it.

They’d been in prison before for that ghost case and both of them had spent their fair share of time behind bars at the local police station but this was different. This was silent and empty and no one gave a shit about what happened to you because where you were didn’t technically exist.

It drove him crazy thinking about where Dean was in this place- and he as _a lot_ of time to think about it. The idea that his brother could have been moved off the compound haunted him constantly, made his breath catch in his throat and he had to sit with his head between his legs to calm down. The single comfort about being in forced solitude is he can also pretend Dean’s sitting on the other side of the cell, their backs separated by only a few layers of concrete and there isn’t a soul to tell him different. That and no one is there to see him press his ear against the cold unforgiving wall, desperately straining to hear any sign of his brother that would tell him if Dean was still here.

He tried to stay positive.

It was so damn hard.

He tried not to overthink the situation either but he knew what was going on, knew what happened in a place like this. In a place that didn't exist there was no paperwork to pass on and no laws to follow meaning they could be waterboarding Dean right this second down the hall, his brother screaming as he was forced under and Sam can’t get to him, he can’t fucking get-

He took a shaky breath as he stared at his bloody smears on the cell door before down to his shaking hands and shredded fingernails.

He didn’t handle cages well.

It was fine though, he was handling it. He was handling it just fine thank you.

He needed a moment to sit and calm down after the nail incident, reassure himself that more than likely Dean was sitting in his own cell somewhere bored out of his mind. Dean wasn’t like Sam, wasn’t claustrophobic and afraid of the emptiness that seemed to always be creeping over his shoulder. He was strong and Sam loved him so much and as soon as he saw his stupid face and made sure he wasn’t even the slightest bit waterlogged he was going to kiss the irritating smirk he knew would be there right off. 

Dean gave some of his strength to Sam too, knew little brother sometimes needed a little extra help. With every pat on the back and brush of fingers through his hair- every _Sammy_ \- Sam got a little stronger and was able to go a little farther than what he’d thought was his limit. Sam wasn’t sure what his limit was now, though he thought it ended somewhere around when he heard the sound of a body being dragged outside his cell and had screamed Dean’s name until he lost his voice and the guard had to come in and knock him out with the butt of his gun.

He had tried to break the mirror and slash his throat for real this time but apparently the guards already knew that trick as the glass was shatterproof.

He had just wanted to join Dean.

Time passed even slower until he snatched a bit of conversation between the guards about the annoying guy in cell B who wouldn’t stop singing bad Zeppelin covers and Sam breathed for the first time in two days. He also ate the bread he’d been ignoring as Dean would want him too and he doesn’t want his brother to give up either.

Now he mostly waited, learning the rotation of the guards by their footsteps and how their voices sound when they cough. There would be an opportunity, either he would catch it or Dean and then they would finally get to be together and Sam wouldn't worry about things like Dean being tortured and killed every second of the day. 

It was a nice thought and he held onto it.

And next door sitting with his back against the wall Dean was silently plotting, he too having heard the body bag but unfortunately Sam didn’t do much for the guards to complain about. It had been weeks ago and he’d come to terms with it- or at least decided on killing every last living thing in the entire compound painful and very, _very_ slowly. The guards were getting sloppy when taking out his tray and he knew exactly when he was going to be making his move.

He let them have another day though.

He would be with Sammy soon enough. 


	12. Smut, Weecest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's a helpful brother.

Sam’s asleep. 

Well, he _was_ asleep, now he’s desperately grinding back against his brother cock, whining at the lack of friction and Dean’s warm hand sealed firmly over his mouth. 

“Shh, Sammy. Can’t wake up Dad, you know better than that.” His brother's voice is low and hot in his ear, barely more than a whisper but it makes Sam’s cock start to leak and hips stutter back against Dean’s. He gives a muffled reply but Dean’s hand simply tightens over his mouth in warning, the message clear- they both need to get off and Sam better not wake up Dad before they finish. 

Sam heads the warning and is a good boy, rocking his slim hips up and down, tilting them just right so Dean’s fat cock head pushes into the crease of his cottoned ass. His brother rewards his efforts with a string of moaned praises, _“Such a fucking sweet ass Sammy, being a good boy and giving it up to your big brother, can’t fucking wait till Dad leaves, gonna stuff you so full, little tummy just stuffed full of my big cock-”_

Sam squirms back, desperately trying to get some sort of relief as his brother's words drive him insane with need. Suddenly Dean’s hips start to stutter before a calloused hand is sliding over his hip and down into his underwear to grasp his cock. “There we go, baby. You gonna come for me?” 

Sam’s keen of relief is silent thanks to Dean’s hand and in only three tight pumps he’s coming, barely noticing his underwear being pulled down and Dean rubbing his cock over the tight pucker of Sam’s clenching hole followed by the burst of warm wetness as come drips down his ass. 

After a moment the hand is removed and something is being used to wipe up the come on his skin before it can get all over the sheets, his briefs being pulled back into place. “Mm, fucking perfect Sammy.” Dean murmurs, pulling the younger boy snuggly against his warm chest. 


	13. Day in the life, established relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean's Morning Routine.

“Sam! Quit jerking off and get your ass out of the shower!” The dull bang of Dean’s fist against worn wood pulled Sam out of his vacant trance, lost to the pull of warm water against his back. He ignored his brother as he craned his neck down and bent his knees, attempting to fit at least half of his head and body underneath the rusty shower head to wash away the soapy lather.

The door abruptly opened, Dean’s shadow outlined against the yellow papery curtain as he moved to the sink and the sound of the running facet joined the shower. “C’mon Samantha, we need to be out of here in fifteen.” Dean’s voice muffled around the toothbrush. 

“Road’s not going anywhere,” Sam grumbled under his breath, attempting to wiggle the shower head to a better spray angle but it seemed like the calcium build up had sealed it in the unfortunate position. Maybe he should start buying CLR for the motels- of course if he was going to spend time deep cleaning a rundown shower it would probably make more sense to just get his own showerhead, he could probably just keep it in the glove box to…

The curtain was suddenly yanked back, Dean in his worn and too tight black briefs with the hole in the thigh giving him a cursory once over. If he was wearing those that meant that they needed to do laundry soon, probably before they hit Kentucky.

He idly ran a hand down his chest, helping to rinse off the soapy suds as his brother gave him an impatient sigh. “Dude, this is why you shower at night- you get all spacey in the mornings.” He eyed the soap still in Sam’s hair before deciding it was good enough and yanked the taller man out of the bathtub against his loud protests.

“We’re leaving in ten.” Dean warned before shutting the shower curtain with an air of finality.

Sam glared but turned and grabbed the less mildew covered of the two towels, leaving the stiff green one for Dean and walked back into the main room. He dressed quickly, stealing his brother’s soft Henley- they really did need to do laundry- before packing up the rest of the supplies that Dean has started on before barging in on his shower.

“Thought you might have been shaving your ass in there Sammy- took you long enough.” Dean smirked as he came out of the bathroom five minutes later in a cloud of thick steam, the moldy towel wrapped loosely around his hips. “Course you don’t have to do that for me Baby, you know I like you natural.” He smacked Sam’s ass on his way past, pulling out random clothes from his duffle and gave them a quick sniff.

Sam rolled his eyes, managing to fit the first aid kit in with the rest of the gun’s which left more room for the water bottles he had bought from the vending machine in the second bag. “Did you want to stop at the Seven Eleven or get on the road some?” He asked, ignoring the comment.

Dean hummed in thought, pulling on the clothes that had passed whatever smell test he’d put them through. “Let’s just grab coffee and we’ll do supplies when we cross state lines, I don’t like the way that cop was looking at our badges, probably shouldn’t linger.”

Sam nodded in agreement, slinging both duffels onto his back and taking them out to the car, Dean following soon after with his own bag and after dropping the key off at reception they were on the road back into town.

“Check it out Sammy, McDonalds is doing smoothies here. You want one?” Dean craned his head down to read the passing sign. “Looks like- Strawberry banana! Perfect, you eat that shit at the bunker all the time.”

Sam cracked a smile, looking over at his brother with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just fruit Dean, not anything crazy.” He couldn't help the fond flutter in his stomach at Dean’s obvious happiness at finding a breakfast place to both their preferences, even if it was McDonalds and about as mundane as their life got. “I’m honestly good with coffee though, regardless of fruit in it I don’t want the first thing in the morning to be from there since I’m sure there are a lot more unlisted ingredients.” He explained.

“Maybe I should try it then,” Dean offered with a grin before reaching across the seat and dipping his hand under Sam’s shirt, fingers tracing soft circles against his skin. “Got a sensitive stomach Sammy,” He cooed teasingly as Sam rolled his eyes.

“Eating a piece of fruit every so often isn’t going to kill you.” He shoved at his hand.

“Pie has fruit in it.” Dean reminded him, turning back to the road as he slipped his hand out from under the shirt and blindly linked it with Sam’s, their joint hands resting casually on the leather between them. “I’ll eat it every damn day if you insist.”

“I don’t and I have a feeling I’m going to have to start force feeding you produce. Or get one of those cookbooks where they hide spinach in brownies.”

Dean gagged at that thought, pulling into the empty gas station and parking at a corner pump. “You do that and we’ll see how fast your blender disappears- and those recyclable condoms!”

“They’re good for the environment Dean, I don’t know why you’re so weirded out about them.”

“Condoms Sam. Recycled Condoms.”

“… How many times am I going to have to tell you that they’re not actually made of used condoms?”

“It’s in the name Sammy, I can read a fucking box that tells me I’m sticking my dick into something that’s touched a million other dicks.”

"We don't even use them that often, why is it a huge deal that when we do we're just slightly being mindful of the environment!" 

"Dicks Sam! Millions of dicks!" 

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning forward to peck Dean on the lips before opening his door. “I’ll make sure to get you the non organic coffee grounds. Nothing locally sourced either.”

“Damn right, I want the cheapest shit they have. At least I’ll know where it’s been.” Dean grumbled, slipping out of the Impala to put in the pump.


	14. Weecest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First new school since they've started their relationship

“Sammy, c’mon. Relax.” 

Sam scowled, turning further into the window as he looked out at the road. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited to start school- he was. It was just that this would be the first time going to school with Dean since… well since it happened. 

“Freshman year! All the AP classes your little geeky brain can handle!” Dean continued, trying to get his little brother to lighten up. Scanning the area, he pulled the freshly washed Impala into a parking spot in a deserted corner of the lot. Killing the engine, he turned to grin at his brother but faltered at the miserable look that met it. 

“What if someone finds out?” Sam asked softly. 

“No one’s going to find out.” Dean said firmly, reaching out to squeeze Sam’s hand. “And if someone does and they decide to spill, I’ll beat their ass in front of the school for saying I’d do that to my baby brother.” He winked, eyes softening as he watched Sam's shoulders relax slightly. 

“As long as your ready to defend our honor.” Sam allowed after a moment, a small teasing grin peeking out that brightened Dean's morning.

“Always, babe.” His brother grinned. “Now come here and give me a kiss before we have to go spend eight hours pretending you haven’t had my dick up your-” 

Sam cut him off with his lips against his, both boys bending low to stay out of view as they shared a quick, chaste kiss. 

“I haven’t had anything up my ass.” Sam corrected as they sat back up, small pout pulling at his lips. 

“I was going to say up your mouth.” Dean denied with a grin. “We’re working up to it, don’t worry.” 

“Dean, just because _you_ think that I’m not ready doesn’t mean I’m not.” Sam argued as Dean rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car. “We’re not doing this here Sam.” 

“Whatever,” Came Sam’s irritated reply, joining Dean outside the car as they started to walk toward the school. A moment later, the familiar weight of Dean’s arm, crinkling in the leather jacket rested on his shoulder, his brother tugging him close. 


End file.
